"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He finally caught her arm and swung her around. "You'd like me on top in a very different situation."

"Pardon me?"

He pulled her closer. "You can fool the others, Mac, but not me. You'll always be what you are, no matter how many Mrs. Wyndhams approve or how many gowns you wear. It's all paint over dross."

She tried to jerk free. "You should know."

The blood was pounding in his ears. "Should I?"

"You think you've figured me out, Liam, but I can play the same game. You're a man who's had to fight all his life for everything he has." Her voice dropped so low that he almost couldn't hear it over the surf. "You had a hard childhood, no privileges or gentleness, only stark poverty and struggle. Now you're rich, but you haven't left that childhood behind, have you? Is that why you want to marry Caroline, because she's like some pretty toy you didn't have as a kid? Because she means you've finally succeeded?"

He let her go as if her flesh had turned to fire. "Lucky guesses, Mac?" he rasped. "Or is this Perry's opinion?"

"Perry has nothing to do with it. But Caroline does. You don't know when to stop, Liam. You're trying to make Caroline into somethinga"d.a.m.n it, what's going to happen when she really proves she has a mind of her own?"

Liam felt cold through to the center of his heart. "You don't need to be concerned about that, Mac. Soon it'll be over, and you'll be out of this city. That's how it will be. How it has to be."

She only gazed at him, looking almost lost. Conceding the last word to him, granting him victory.

A victory that felt utterly hollow.

He turned and called the dogs. They came running, b.u.mmer dancing around and around his feet and Norton leaning companionably against his side. True friends, incapable of using human speech to wound and rend and betray.

"I'll take you back to the Palace now, Miss MacKenzie," he said tonelessly.

"And Caroline?"

"I've sent her home."

"I think I'd rather walk."

He wouldn't have been surprised if she tried it. "Will you come willingly, or shall I throw you over my shoulder?"

"Someday," she said, sitting down in the sand to pull on her soiled boots, "you might learn there are better ways to get what you want than brute strength and intimidation."

He didn't answer her. They walked stiffly, Mac in the lead, back to the road.

The carriage ride to the Palace was made without conversation. Mac, somber and unyielding, was ready to speak only when he let her off in the Grand Court.

"Ask yourself one thing, Liam," she said quietly as he prepared to drive away. "Why are you so anxious to be rid of me now? Why are you so afraid?"

And she turned away before he could summon a reply.

Liam kept his mind blank as he drove home. Even the dogs were unusually quiet. Only on the last stretch of Sacramento Street did he set the horses in one last, reckless run to the gates of his great, empty house.

It was at those gates that the world lurched violently and threw Liam forward against the dashboard of the surrey. The horses screamed and reared. A hard grip on the seat kept him from falling out; the effort wrenched his arm and slammed his head against the roof. He heard a yelp and a whimper and struggled to right himself.

The carriage had collapsed on one side, front and rear wheels tilted at an impossible angle. b.u.mmer lay very still on the ground a few feet away, Norton licking him with worried nudges of his muzzle. Ignoring the pain in his arm and head, Liam scrambled out of the surrey. He gave the horses a swift check and found them trembling and white-eyed but whole. He moved quickly to crouch beside the dogs.

"b.u.mmer," he said. "Can you hear me, boy?"

The terrier's visible eye opened and then shut again. His whimper was barely audible. Liam ran his hand over b.u.mmer's side, careful not to exert any pressure. One of the dog's legs was bleeding badly, and he flinched when Liam brushed his ribs. Pushing Norton gently out of the way, Liam gathered the terrier in his arms and strode for the gates.

Chen met him before he reached the front door. "Mr. O'Shea, whata""

"We've had an accident, Chen. Send for the veterinarian immediately. And clean up b.u.mmer's leg. I think his ribs are broken."

With utmost care Chen took the dog, murmuring a.s.surances into the terrier's limp triangular ear. "I will take good care of him."

"I know you will. When b.u.mmer's safe, send a message to Mr. Bauer that I'll need to see him right away. I'll be in front speaking with Forster."

"At once, Mr. O'Shea." Chen vanished into the house, Norton trotting anxiously behind.

Liam knew b.u.mmer couldn't be in better hands until the veterinarian arrived. His next most pressing business wouldn't wait. He went out into the garden and was taking the path toward the carriage house when he saw Forster by the surrey, bent over one of the ruined wheels.

"Well?" he said, joining the other man. "What caused it?"

Forster straightened. "I can't account for it, Mr. O'Shea, except that it looks like someone sawed halfway through the front axle. A few good runs and it was bound to give way." He clucked his tongue. "It's a miracle the horses weren't hurt."

"Yes." Liam remembered how he'd raced the surrey not once but twice, how Mac had been in the carriage only minutes before.

She could have been badly hurt.

Shea could have died.

This had been no accident. No accident that Caroline had been safe with Perry in the gig.

He unb.u.t.toned the collar of his shirt and ripped off his tie. "See to the horses, Forster. The veterinarian's on his waya"have him examine them carefully, and give them an extra measure of grain tonight. The poor beasts have earned it."

"I'll do that, Mr. O'Shea. Are you all right?"

"Perfectly."

Forster gave him a dubious glance and went to calm the horses, unbuckling their harness. "There, now," he soothed. "You'll be fine, my beauties. No one will hurt you again."

Liam stood by the surrey as Forster led the team away. No, no one would hurt the horses or b.u.mmer or anyone else again. His bitter thoughts turned toward the center of town, toward Market and a certain suite of boardinghouse rooms.

This time I'll kill you, Perry.

The room was heavy with the scent of incense, a scent that didn't quite cover the more acrid smell of opium from the adjoining chamber. Perry was grateful for the low light and heavy shadows; he'd been careful to wear a hat that gave him some anonymity so that the man he was to meet would have trouble identifying him later.

When everything was finished.

While he waited under the impa.s.sive scrutiny of the tong guards, he thought back to the news he'd had from Forster a few days before. The news that had led him here to this alien place, to ally himself to men with whom he had nothing in common. Men who would probably see a sawed-through carriage axle as a warning rather than a murder attempt.

An attempt which had not succeeded.

Perry smoothed his mustache. It had been quite a shock at first, but he'd gotten over it quickly enough. He hadn't even waited to discover Liam's reaction. He knew he'd operate more smoothly without having to contend with Liam's rather violent mistrust.

The contrary Irishman had no doubt already fixed the blame for his "accident." But if he'd gone in pursuit of Perry, he wouldn't have found him.

Perry knew how to disappear.

There was a stirring from one side of the room, the hiss of a sliding panel being drawn back. A man walked in, wrapped in dignity, his dark silk suit dull in the dimness. Two hatchetmen followed, and a smaller individual with wire spectacles and a humble air.

The boss seated himself in the carved mahogany chair and regarded Perry for a length of time undoubtedly meant to intimidate. Perry met his dark gaze unflinchingly. Inspection apparently completed, the boss signaled to one of his men and spoke swiftly in another language.

The bespectacled man moved up, bowing. "The master wishes to know if you will have tea, sir."

"I'm afraid I haven't time for pleasantries. I'm here on a matter of business. To our mutual benefit."

The interpreter repeated some approximation of Perry's words to his master with much humble posturing. The boss was either bored or annoyed; he uttered a few terse comments and waited for his man to render them in English.

"The master wishes to know what you want with him."

Perry leaned back in his chair. "You may tell your master that I know what you're planning to do about Mr. O'Shea, and I think I can be of help to you."

The interpreter was a little less efficient in his work this time, and his boss less happy. "And what," he said, "makes you so certain you can be of use to us, Mr. Sinclair? We have many outsiders working for us already."

"Because I know O'Shea very well. I'm his closest friend, as it happens."

The boss leaned back, stroking the expensive silk of his jacket. "And so?"

"I also know about his secret operations," Perry said. "The ones that have been so inconvenient to your business. I have reason to believe he's organizing another raid, and I may be able to provide you with details."

"I see."

"And if that's not enough, I may be able to get rid of him for you. I'm well aware that you can't afford to go about youra attempts on Mr. O'Shea too obviously unless you want the police down on your head. Some of them do remain uncorrupted and only require a good reason to put an end to your very profitable transactions." Perry smiled coldly. "I can take care of O'Shea without any risk to you. But only if you leave it to me and don't interfere."

"And what do you expect for thisa service?"

"As I said, you run a very profitable business. I need money. I'm sure we can work out a mutually satisfactory agreement."

When the translation was done the boss sat very still in his chair while the hatchetmen shifted and looked as if they'd like nothing better than to make use of the weapons for which they'd been so aptly named. One of them even leaned down to speak into the ear of his boss, making a chopping motion with his hand.

But Perry knew he'd succeeded when the boss signaled again and the interpreter scurried out to return with an exquisite tea service on a delicate enameled tray.

"Perhaps we may be of aid to each other," the boss said. His servant presented a steaming cup to Perry and returned to his master. "Now we shall seal our bargain."

Perry took the fragile cup, inhaling the subtle fragrance. And waited.

The boss sipped his tea. Perry did the same without further hesitation.

If the tong leader had decided not to trust him, he could easily have poisoned the tea. No one knew Perry had come here; few would ever miss him. But the risk was worth taking. The stakes had gone too high.

There was absolutely nothing left to lose.

Chapter Sixteen.

Tell her the joyous time will not be stayed Unless she do him by the forelock take.

a"Edmund Spenser SHE'D BLOWN IT but good.

Mac felt a trickle of sweat run down the front of her bodice as she watched the masked and costumed society couples perform a quadrille on the Gresham's elegant parquet ballroom floor. She plucked at her elbow-length gloves, longing to peel them off. In spite of open windows and the late hour, so fashionable for nineteenth-century b.a.l.l.s, the room was stifling. Ten pounds more or less of ball gown didn't helpa"even though it left the upper part of her arms bare and plunged in front a little too low for comfort.

At least she'd put her foot down at the idea of a full costume. The half-mask she wore had the advantage of making her feel a little more anonymous. Caroline's instruction during the past two weeks hadn't appreciably improved Mac's talent for dancing, so Mac was relegated to the status of wallflower for every dance but the waltz.

Thank G.o.d. Six weeks in the past and she still felt as if she were on a movie set.

The movie set of a historical farce, at that. A farce in which she, the heroine, had messed up history and couldn't seem to put it right again.

Everything had gone downhill after Caroline's rebellion at Cliff House and Mac's confrontation with Liam on the beach. She'd hardly had two words from Liam since, even though she'd been at the Gresham home so often she might as well have moved in.

And she hadn't seen Perry at all. It was as if her great-great-grandfather had literally disappeareda"a circ.u.mstance that made Mac extremely uneasy. Her careful questions to Liam had been ignored, and Caroline had clammed up and looked on the verge of tears when Perry's name was mentioned.

It had been a thoroughly lovely fortnight. Liam hadn't let Caroline out of the Gresham mansion. The big surprise was that Liam not only allowed Mac to see Caroline, but had actually encouraged long visits. And those visits were almost always in his presence, since he'd made himself a part of the furniture from dawn to midnight every day. Mac suspected he'd decided she was the lesser of two evilsa"though given their last conversation, she was amazed that he'd let her within spitting distance of his precious ward.

Or maybe he thought he'd rather have Mac underfoot than out conspiring somewhere with Perry. He permitted Caroline Mac's company because he wouldn't let her have anyone else's until the ball, except a few girlfriends for occasional tea or a brief gossip. And, of course, the indispensable dressmaker.

Mac had learned more than she ever wanted to know about Victorian female gossip, fashion, and etiquette. Caroline had seesawed between "perfect ladyship" and moody silences, treating Mac either as a long-lost friend or a hopeless rustic who didn't know Spanish lace from Irish.

She might not win an Oscar for "Best Modern Woman Impersonating a Victorian Lady in a Historical Drama," but at least Mac wasn't giving herself away badly enough to be thought anything but eccentric by Caroline's friends.

That's me. Eccentric Mac, who knows d.a.m.ned well she doesn't belong here. And she also knew d.a.m.ned well that time was ticking away. Literally. She was treading water pretending to be what she wasn't in a society that wasn't hers. And until she found a way out of this mess, she was stuck here.

It wasn't just her heart she'd be leaving in nineteenth-century San Francisco. If she could leavea She pushed that thought away and snapped open her fan. No point in thinking about how she was supposed to get home until she had a reason to.

There was one good thing to think about. Liam may have been ignoring her, at best being frigidly politea"but he wasn't conceding much more to his bride-to-be. Mac hadn't seen any sign that he'd asked Caroline to marry him. He certainly hadn't tried to reprise his kiss at Cliff House. To the contrary: he seemed bent on making himself as much a living example of menacing and omnipresent implacability as was humanly possible. If there was love on Liam's part, Mac hadn't observed it.

She flexed her feet in their dancing slippers, longing for her sneakersa"or even her worn-out hiking boots. d.a.m.n it, where was Perry? Caroline had been confident that he would never miss her birthday ball, no matter what had caused his long absence.